


Breadbox

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A happy ending for a slave who doesn't want escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breadbox

“Twenty-five.”

“Not a chance. Fifty.” Eulogy replied.

“Twenty.” the Lone Wanderer replied with a cocked brow. “You’ve had him so long, the value’s depreciated. Cut your losses, Eulogy.

He glanced to the slave pens, and back at the girl, part-time slaver, part-time slave owner. She had her chin up in that defiant way, kept people around here off her back. He sighed, “I hate losing money.”

“Costs you more than that to feed him.” She stared for a moment, blue eyes with that look like she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She stuck out her right hand. “Twenty-five caps.”

Reluctantly, he shook it. “Deal.” Then, turning to his second-in-command, “Bring this lovely customer her new slave.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Breadbox moves peculiarly- like he’s not used to moving, slow enough as not to startle anyone, quick enough to not keep them waiting. He’s well-trained, approaches the Wanderer with his head down and wrists crossed in front of him. “You’re my new owner?”

“Yes.” the girl replies, so young, with her shoulders back and hands crossed behind her authoritatively. “How’s your health, Breadbox?”

He averts his eyes from their rest on her jaw- remembers do not make eye contact unless specifically instructed- self-consciously. “Not very good, I’m afraid...”

“You can walk. It’s only two miles north of here, not too many hills... Think you can make it?”

He nods. “I’ll do my best, Mistress.”

“You’ll address me by my name.” she replies with a particular glance to Forty. She is so pale, the dark makes her skin look ghostly. She reminds him of a slave they had a while ago, a Vault girl with the same bulk on her left wrist. “Erin.”

“Yes, Miss- Erin...”

“Come, Breadbox.” Erin says, and turns on her heel. She leads him through the maze of slavers, with a rifle on her back, a pistol on her hip, and a canteen on her belt, and he can’t decide which to eye.

When they come to the outer gate, she reveals a key in her palm, and removes his collar, handing it to the slaver nearest. His neck feels very light, and very cold, and with blurry eyes he looks ahead of him and sees endless, flat, grey. “Come on." she says, and begins walking. He follows closely.

She plays the radio from the- what’s it called? Bib-Boy?- on her wrist, and sings along occasionally. She does not speak, and neither does Breadbox. He wants to know where they’re going, but dares not ask. Soon, she stops, turns to him, and asks, “How you feelin’?”

“Fine, Miss Erin.”

She reaches into the bag dangling at her hip, and removes a bottle of water- purified water. She hands it to him. “Drink.”

Breadbox does, and they keep walking. They meet a radscorpion, and she tells him something that he does not hear, but does not ask, because he dares not offend her. He follows closely, and they avoid it.

The walk is uneventful. She stops them often, instructs him to sit, and watches the Wastes with her gun in her hand. Not long, not long at all, they approach a rock formation, and she leads him in the mouth of a narrow path. Breadbox is tired, but the large gates they enter, guarded by people with sticks on their clothes, tells him they are near their destination.

Breadbox is convinced he has suffered heat stroke, even in the night. All if green, and quiet, a small crackling fire in a gazebo, and lush, green ceiling with many gaps: the ceiling _moves_ , sways in wind. Breadbox follows closely, and tries not to be distracted when his owner speaks.

“Welcome to Oasis.” she says. “This is your new home.”

“My... my home?” he asks, then quickly remembers not to ask stupid questions. “Yes, Miss Erin. What should I do?”

“Whatever you want.” she replies with a close-lipped smile. “The people here are called the Treeminders. Follow their rules, be nice. They’re a little crazy, but so are you, so that works out. You have one job, Breadbox.”

He listens intently. It’s easier to hear when it is so quiet here. “You’re going to go through this ceremony- it’s short and mostly uneventful, and then you’ll meet Harold. Harold is...” she struggles for the word, peels her lip with her teeth. “Odd. Old, lonely, depressed, and misunderstood. I want you to make friends with him. Listen to him, talk to him, but don’t obey him. He might ask you to help him commit suicide, and that’s when you should just ignore him. Do you know what a ghoul is?”

There were a few slaves that came through, with rotting skin and missing hair, called themselves that. They were more expensive because they lived longer. Breadbox nods.

Erin says, “Harold’s like a ghoul. Remember that. He’s not a god, and he’s not a freak. He’s a man with a mutation. I want you to be his friend.”

Breadbox shifts his eyes around the green, green, _green_. “Yes, Miss Erin.”

She smiles brightly. “It’s just Erin. I’m not your owner, Breadbox. You’re free.”


End file.
